One and Only
by JestaAriadne
Summary: What with one thing and another, Poland has hidden insecurities of his own. Fortunately, both he and Lithuania have been having a decisive couple of years... This just might work out after all. One night and one morning after two centuries. LietPol, with a side of America. (...and, finished!)
1. Chapter 1

**Notes:** Ah, I'm finally getting around to posting this here! There are two chapters. Thank you to sednamode for beta-reading 3

Basically, this is my _everything-is-beautiful-LietPol-reunion-fic_, because I hadn't written one yet, and I love them, and ugh _all I wanted to do was write a love scene_. And then all this happened. There is history and angst in the background, but on the whole it's just very fluffy and very hopeful.

Also, yeah, obviously, rated M for _quite a lot of_ romantic, enthusiastic, fluffy, chatty sexual content :)

* * *

_January 1992  
London, England_

Women in Europe, Poland reflected, probably hadn't worn their hair this voluminous in two hundred years. Of course, Hungary was rocking the look as hard as she always rocked every look. It was so very good to see her.

"New Year's Resolution," he announced. "From now on, I'm going to be totally unselfish."

"Really?" Hungary asked. "What brought this on? This time, I mean."

"Oh, things!" Poland said airily, ignoring her last comment. "Life is pretty sweet at the minute, you know? I should share it around."

"Fair enough. Who said you were selfish, anyway?"

"Well… no one recently, I guess. Except Russia."

Hungary snorted. "Oh, _well then_. Yes, we all know how incredibly selfish you've been there. Functional democracy? Reasonable wages? Whatever were you thinking?"

"I know, right?" Poland laughed. "Like, 'wait what you don't want to use my shiny industrial policy, but I worked so hard on that, OMIGOD SO SELFISH POLSHKA!'"

"Yeah! 'course, I'm right up there in the selfishness stakes too…"

"Yeah, like all those troops he so kindly left in your house? How weirdly ungrateful of you, I mean!"

"It's been a series of tragic misunderstandings this half-century, hasn't it? 'Oh you DON'T WANT my tanks crushing your citizenry Hungary I am so _hurt'_—"

"—'what do you _mean_ you want help in Warsaw I am way too important and busy just on the other side of this river', HA—"

Old wounds. They laughed until they gasped.

After they'd calmed down a little, they exchanged rueful glances.

"Well, that was fun," Hungary sighed.

"It was kinda," Poland admitted. "Okay, it must be weird for him, though. Russia actually believed all that stuff, you know?"

"And now here they are trying to take away all his friends. I know."

There was a pause.

"Ah… but, a little _totally healthy_ venting aside, I am going to try to be better. So! I'm gonna get another drink, can I get you anything?"

"Good start," said Hungary. "No, thank you, I'd better head on now. Off you go and be unselfish – all for _Russia's_ benefit, right?"

Oh.

The way Hungary was looking at him, she absolutely knew.

* * *

Poland and Lithuania's first one-to-one conversation in person in years was plain ridiculous. It was held walking along down a corridor after a classic "you-first-no-you-first" at the door.

"So – party time, hey?" Poland said, falling into step.

"What?" said Lithuania, then: "Oh, yes. Yeah, we had a few actually; it was nice."

"Oh, yeah – of course." Poland _knew_ that, he'd _been_ at at least one of them; it hadn't been a real question, he was just trying to think of something to say… "Hey, I got you Baltic guys' song on tape, did I say?"

"Did you? That's nice!" Lithuania smiled politely.

"At least," Poland continued, "I taped it off the radio, is that illegal? I dunno…"

"Um… only a little?"

There was a noise like a small herd of elephants behind them and a shout:

"Guys, wait up!"

Lithuania waved, all-too-obviously relieved. "Hello, Mr. America!"

"You got all formal again, dude," America chided him. "Anyway, anyway, aren't you looking well? Freedom looks real great on you."

Poland agreed with all his heart. Why couldn't he have said that? Lithuania might look a little tired, a little frayed; _that_ was nothing new. But there was a fire kindled in his eyes that had been dampened for years and years, and it was still growing brighter.

Looking at him today, Poland wondered: did I ever _glow_ like that? If he'd only known, he would have worn all his most daring outfits.

America extended his hand to Lithuania and Lithuania responded immediately, instinctively. "Lithuania. I mean it. I'm really happy you're okay – ha, you're better than okay, you're fantastic. And if there's anything I can do to help, you just let me know, alright?"

Lithuania's face, open and smiling, mirrored the genuine affection.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're completely welcome." His frank blue eyes didn't waver.

He's so _nice_, Poland thought wretchedly, and almost jumped as America suddenly turned to him with a wide grin.

"And you too, bro, gimme an S gimme an O… SOL-I-DAR-I-TY, right? How's it all going?"

He didn't want real answers, Poland told himself; he was just being _friendly_. So he answered briefly that it was all going like totally great thank you, and excused himself.

* * *

Poland couldn't be sure of the precise meaning of that look shared between America and Lithuania. He'd never asked much about Lithuania's trip to the States that one time. He'd never wanted to ask. He'd always wanted to know. He felt stupid for _not_ knowing. Were they–? Or had they ever been..? All he had to go on were years of Russia's twisted hints and intimations, every one of them designed to turn them all against each other, to make sure they could trust no one but him.

America seemed so nice.

That really only made it worse.

But, if he could make Lithuania smile like that, then… Then…

Like someone said, Never ask to God to make you patient because _He will_. He'll do it by putting you into situations that stretch your patience to its outer limits and beyond. Apparently much the same model applied to foolhardy resolutions about unselfishness.

Poland balled his fists and screwed his eyes tight shut.

_This isn't about me. I want him to be happy. I really want him to be happy._

That, then, was the off.

_I really want him to be happy._

* * *

I'll never forgive you, Lithuania had said.

By this time, Poland had no shortage of memories to fuel his nightmares, but that moment still occasionally surfaced. It was after their fight, or maybe during it, depending how you measured (Liet was no quitter.) Not their only fight, but their worst. _Poland. I'll never forgive you for this._

And Poland had felt his assured smile slip for half a second. "Sure you will," he'd quipped. "It's me. Everything's going to be fine now, so stop making a fuss."

He'd said that. Lithuania glowering up at him, split lip and smoke-stained uniform, refusing his hand, but _everything's going to be fine now_. Stop making a_ fuss._ The memory was still tender. He'd thought, he'd really thought…

Well, it didn't matter what he'd thought, because nothing had been fine again, at all, for a very long time.

Before the Second World War, Lithuania, personally, had been at least civil, to a degree that would have surprised observers.

And then, Poland had spared hardly a thought for Liet or for repairing their relationship. He only wished he'd had the leisure.

Afterwards, the phone talks had begun again. They were not allowed to see each other, (and jumping borders had gotten trickier since the 1800s) but they were On Speaking Terms. Poland tried not to feel giddily happy when he heard that voice again, but it was no good. And somehow, talking was very easy, even though he didn't know what to say. They had some shared troubles once again, and better home technology, but by now over a hundred years' distance. So he rambled on about this or that, nothing deep, no past, no future - except, latterly: _come on,_ _hurry up and get out._

This time around, very consciously, he'd had no hopes. No assumptions. Hardly a daydream about the one person who shone in his memories like no one else_. It would be nice to see him again._ That was as much he allowed himself.

And when he had, at the Baltics' party… it was calamitous. Because it turned out that Poland was still crazy about Lithuania. Still? Moreso. Chronically, certifiably: he had it bad. The only thing that had changed was that he couldn't even pretend anymore.

He counted it a blessing that he could still enjoy their phone conversations, regardless of this stupid feeling, the settled unhappy knowledge of his own terminal condition. And so they talked of nothing at all, and a little of politics, once it started to make a difference, and again nothing. He often got the feeling that he was annoying Lithuania, but he didn't know how else to act.

* * *

And then there was America, who was just too loud and friendly and assured and likable! America, who was even good-looking in a _loud_ way. America, for whom Poland could almost have contracted the kind of doomed admiration he'd once felt for France and England. Which was just _embarrassing;_ America was only a kid after all.

But a stupid crush? Maybe that would have been okay, maybe that he could have dealt with, had some fun indulging those thoughts even.

He couldn't.

He was in love with Lithuania. So much it ached. As if someone had scratched that name on his heart, over and again.

* * *

And then there was Russia, whose insanity was of a different kind, and into the depths of which Poland had caught more than a glimpse.

Among the peaceable nations at conference, several had a kind of haggard jollity about them: America was possibly even louder than usual, more relieved than he wanted to admit; England, playing host, was a strange mix of friendly and aloof.

Russia's face was grey, like old snow. Poland almost felt sorry for him, alone in that crooked house. Almost; but not quite (not yet.)

Passing him in the corridor, he was _sorely_ tempted to chant "Gorby, Gorby!" like they had in '89, under his breath, just to see him twitch. But he remembered his resolution and walked by in haughty silence, which had to count as a start.

Poland involved himself fully in the meeting. He'd gone so long without anyone caring about his opinions that it seemed important to have a _lot_ of opinions now to make up for lost time. This was fun, until he caught Lithuania looking at him oddly. He said nothing for the rest of the afternoon.

America caught him again on the way out.

"Hi! How are you doing, anyway?" he asked. They shook hands a little awkwardly as they walked along_._ "Sorry, we didn't get much chance to talk earlier."

"That's alright," Poland said automatically. "Yeah, I'm pretty good. Um, yeah?" Where on earth had all his words gone? Two hours ago he'd had _opinions_.

"That's great, that's so great to hear. You're our pioneer, you know? Hey – if there's anything I can do?" America flashed a smile so brilliant and genuine that it was exhausting to look at. "I'll give you my pager number."

"Okay, thanks…" Poland mumbled, as America strode off somewhere.

Too exhausted to face any more socialising, Poland skipped out on dinner and went straight to his room. He had a bag of sweets in his case and picked at them until suddenly they were three-quarters gone and he felt sick. He got ready for bed at nine-thirty and lay down with headphones on.

He had to fast-forward through _The Baltics Are Waking Up_, though.

* * *

Poland wakes to hear the bells of the Kościół Mariacki chiming midnight, though when he looks across at the digital clock on his bedside table, the numbers don't seem to agree. He sits up in bed.

His light-switch doesn't work either, so he wanders down the hotel corridor to where he thinks Lithuania's room should be. A yard from the threshold, he hesitates.

The door is open and light spills into the hall, a yellow soft-edged light like steady-burning lamps. Something about it tugs at him, reminding him absurdly of _Christmas_ long long ago; of golden-brown smells from the ovens and the pleasant burn of spiced wine. Churches warm at midnight with candles and incense and music. A time to put aside old grudges…

How he hopes he has been forgiven.

The thought he keeps at bay in his waking hours now rises unbidden and completed.

He stands drowning in memories of experiences he never had, an imagined childhood: the way he'd felt as he stood at the door of a half-real memory of home and family for years and years and years, but never abandoned by his people, never truly lost. The thought had kept his heart bitter-sweet but warm because it was always _love_ that sang him back to life…

…Out in the cold street, lighting matches for the little heat and the flame-picture-love until everything burned away to nothing… (but that, too, was someone else's story.)

—How he hopes.

Surely, whatever the doctrine of penance requires of him—by now, surely… Because he's been scoured to the soul. They tied him down and sliced him open, bones all broken and on display. Poured out like water. Even if a small voice niggles at him that that isn't quite how it works: you can't wash away your own sins, no matter how much the blood.

Still here he is outside someone's hotel room, and –

\- a low murmur of voices -

– the open door calls to him, and he walks in.

* * *

Seated side-by-side on a settee, Lithuania and America look up, no surprise: shirt-sleeves and smiles and low resonant voices.

"Nice night, isn't it?" says America. "Come on in, why don't you?"

Feeling suddenly underdressed, exposed, too-young: a child at the grown-ups' party, Poland comes in.

A thousand years young and there's no cure for shyness. He blurts it out: "So, are you two – I mean, cos, like, I'm totally fine if—"

"Poland." Lithuania glances at America. "Come sit here?"

Poland, not entirely clear what's happening, walks over and sits down between them.

"So, um—" he begins again, but again Lithuania gently but firmly cuts him off.

"Hey. Shh. Don't worry so much."

"I—you're the one who worries."

"Hm…"

Lithuania tips Poland's chin up - they look into each other's eyes, and Poland is almost undone - and then suddenly _Lithuania is kissing him._

"Mmf – Lith–…!" Poland mumbles against his lips, and Lithuania opens up his mouth and starts to move his tongue, so gently…

And then behind him, America draws aside his hair, and begins to nibble at his ear, his neck…

And Poland has practically lost all capacity for thought, let alone speech. His pulse skitters in his throat and he makes soft and breathless "_oh_"s into Lithuania's kisses.

The thin fabric of his nightshirt affords him no protection. He can feel every crease and button of their formal clothes on his skin and now, closer in, he is wanting them, he is vulnerable to this. When Lithuania clasps America's arm over his shoulder and sighs, Poland finds he doesn't mind one bit because now both their bodies are pressing against his, and both their mouths are busy at the junctures of his throat and shoulder, and never never has he felt so coveted and so treasured.

_Don't I get a say here?_ he thinks wildly - and just then Lithuania pulls back and looks at him, head a little on one side, mouth quirking, asking the question. (America too, has stopped, hands resting on his waist; Poland can hear the smile in his very breathing.)

He flings his arms about Liet's neck and pulls him right back down, kissing him silly, telling him with his body, _yes, yes, yes_.

America, playfully peeved at being left out, pounces and tickles. Poland squeals and flails and then they're all three sitting side-by-side but close, flushed and breathless. Poland turns to America to apologise or something, but America just laughs and kisses his forehead, and they're over to the bed, and he still hasn't realised…

America helps him off with his shirt, one fluid movement over his head, then runs his hands all over his chest and down his sides, warm hands and gentle before he has a chance to feel cold or exposed or ashamed of the scars still scattered there like a constellation. They'll fade, he's fading them, he's done it before, it's a special skill… America leans in, brushes his open mouth over Poland's chest, breathes, whispers, feather-soft, maddeningly sweet:

"Honey, what took you? We're so glad you made it."

Liet settles behind him. "Lie back…" he says, and smoothes his hair, "Oh, sweetheart, you've been brave."

America is young and strong, gentle and golden – the ideal of a captain, or a prince, not that they have princes in the New World… Poland breathes in and catches just a faint scent of soap. Lithuania is just exactly as he'd always remembered and dreamed. All this although he does wonder fleetingly how America can still be so sure, so simple and so warm after all the shit that's gone down in the last couple decades, and although, by now… by now he should have realised.

But now, ah, _now_ – they are adoring him like something sacred; they are blessing and anointing his body with reverent fingers, holy kisses, with America's teeth just barely grazing a nipple, and Liet's hand slipping under his waistband, he is losing track – then a shock of sensation – _ahh_ – and the sound he makes causes his face to flame more than ever. It seems to please the other two, all smiles and encouraging murmurs and moving faster, pressing in… Had they planned this, he wonders; how did Liet remember and how did America know –

Poland tries to _do_ something, to reciprocate in some way but everything feels so pleasantly heavy. He can hardly work his weak fingers to fumble with shirt buttons, and America shoos him away, so he just holds on tight, seeking out each of their mouths with his mouth, needing them like comfort, like breathing – Which can't be right because, he's tough and he doesn't _need_ anyone, but he feels… like silk thread, like a melody, fragile and strong, delicate-indomitable – They are touching him _everywhere. _Drinking him in like elixir. Wave after wave breaks upon him until he feels himself overtaken, submerged he must surely drown, but they are alert to every signal and always watching closely, are you okay? do you like this? _breathe, baby_ – Faces and bodies gilded in the flickering light of candles, telling him that he's beautiful and showering him with all the care in the world.

Heat builds up and up inside until he's head thrown back and gasping, shiveringly – Liet_, Liet! _– to whiteout, and there they all are, sprawled out in a tangle, kissing each other's vague smiles and catching their breath…

_like all dreams, it has no definite ending. _

* * *

Poland woke up tangled in headphone wires and hearing the night sounds of London (_not Warsaw_) outside his window. At odd intervals the headlamps of passing cars spread filtered light across the ceiling.

He flicked on the reading lamp by his bed, and tried to work out what had just happened.

The dream had not rushed away upon waking, and he remembered it all in detail and in sequence. Confusion, shame – because thinking about it now, how bizarre and how grotesque and yet, _and yet_ it wasn't that but rather the very potency and sweetness that twisted up his insides. An intimate sense of loss.

He punched his pillow, angry almost-tears prickling his eyes because even in his _head_ Lithuania apparently liked America better. No. That wasn't even it. But he'd been fooled, it hadn't happened, and worst of all he'd_ let himself believe that he deserved something so wonderful. _Stupid, stupid…

All at once, he felt badly homesick.

He threw himself into the shower then back into bed, wet hair be damned, where sleep signally failed to find him for hours.

* * *

At seven-thirty, he came fully awake to find that nothing had changed. The same thoughts were still running through his head. He made himself get neatly dressed, then spent ages tamping his hair down before realizing he was putting off the instant of leaving his room.

"Stop being an idiot," he muttered to himself, and slammed the door behind him.

He struck out down the corridor in an odd attitude of mixed wistfulness and irritation.

And found himself once again hesitating at the door to Lithuania's room.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Done! ... enjoy the lovey stuff :D (I wrote a bunch of historical background notes which you can find on my tumblr - see link profile - but they're neither very concise nor probably necessary for understanding the fic. But if you're interested..!)

* * *

The situation could have been completely rational. Stopping by to say _hallo, how are you, didn't see you much yesterday, let's catch up_ to your neighbour – that wouldn't be so very strange_._ But at least in his own mind, Poland had made it far more complex than that.

Oh, well.

He knocked.

"Yes?" Lithuania's voice called.

"H-hey, it's me, Poland. Can I come in?"

"It's open, come in."

Unlike in the dream, Lithuania's room was almost identical to Poland's: bed, desk and chair, wardrobe, en suite. Lithuania sat at the desk with a pile of papers and a cup of hotel coffee. He looked like he'd been up and working for some time. Poland hadn't even had breakfast, and suddenly felt it, empty and nervous. Or maybe it was because Lithuania, white shirt and no tie, hair untied and the winter sunlight through the blinds touching it with gold, looked so disarmingly lovely.

Lithuania was smiling at him with eyebrows a little raised and Poland realised he had been standing, staring, in the doorway for far too long. The idea, of course, would have been to hop up _spontaneously_ onto the desk, scattering Liet's silly papers in a deeply symbolic way. But the moment had passed, especially since he realised he would almost certainly spill coffee over them both. It was irritating that he _had_ realised that, and that nowadays a little coffee stain was enough to stop a brilliant idea in its tracks.

He shuffled in. The door didn't quite close, but he froze up on the point of turning around to push it to. This was just a casual friendly visit…

His mouth, tired of waiting for his brain to catch up, came out with: "You know, America was right; you look totally great these days."

"Thanks," Lithuania said, accepting the compliment, no false modesty. "I feel it. I know the others do—we're all… very busy of course, but I honestly haven't seen Latvia so relaxed since his hippy phase."

"Latvia's _what_? Wow, Liet, pictures or it didn't happen!"

He had not entirely meant to say _Liet_.

"Okay, I'll see what I can do."

A pause. Already the atmosphere felt tense. Time to do something spontaneous.

"I had a dream last night I came into your room and America was there and then we had a threesome," Poland said in a rush.

Lithuania nearly sprayed coffee all over his papers. "Wh-what?"

"Yep." Poland grinned. "Hey, isn't this more like it? I say something inappropriate and you react with _masterly calm_. Just like old times."

Lithuania, who in fact _was_ calm after the initial surprise, carefully set the coffee cup back down on the desk. "We were sort of young back then, it _was_ fairly inappropriate…"

"Pfff, young; you've always been an old man."

"So, how was it?"

Poland boggled at him. "What?"

"In your dream. Was it good?"

Poland opened his mouth and shut it again. Alright, if this was how he wanted to play it... He fixed Lithuania with his best serious look. "_Absolutely amazing_."

"Details?"

Poland scrabbled to keep up with the conversation. "Like _yeah _it was detailed. You know how like in books it's all, '_his talented fingers and wicked mouth_' and stuff? That was you."

He was quite sure he was blushing himself, but it had the desired effect. Lithuania's mouth dropped open. "…What kind of books do _you_ read?"

Poland laughed, and perched on the side of the desk. "Got you…" he said quietly. "You know, I was sort of worried. That things would be way awkward between us."

"Nah." Lithuania smiled warmly. "Why should they be?"

Of course, _then_ they fell into complete and awkward silence. Because there certainly were answers to that question, and they both knew it.

Poland was wishing, too, that he had not said anything about _old times_, because that was the issue. That was the elephant in the room – how far was it or was it not_ just like old times_.

Not at all, he thought miserably, _not at all_; in 200 years what precisely had _not_ changed?

"I can't believe we basically missed pianos," he blurted out.

"Pianos?"

He tried to explain himself.

"Well, not completely, obviously, but I mean, we missed, like, _real_ pianos, real piano music." Lithuania still looked perplexed. "I mean: a lot's changed. So much has changed. But I still…" _No_. He clamped his mouth shut. _Shut up; you said you'd leave it be, don't be selfish._ "Wow, ignore me, haha, I'm not making any… Forget it."

"Hey—" Now Lithuania looked worried. "Hey, Poland, it's alright. I… I thought a lot about you too."

_You did?_

"Okay. Okay." He tried to calm his suddenly too-fast breathing. Stop _panicking_, he screamed in his head, what is _wrong_ with you.

Lithuania took another sip of his coffee and then seemed to reach a decision. He gave Poland an appraising look.

"About your dream. Well... I may be no Mr. Austria with his interpretation of dreams business—"

"_I remember that_," Poland interrupted eagerly, "that was hilarious. ...And, you know, also incredibly freaky."

"—but, maybe it does mean _something_."

"Okay, I'll bite?" He wasn't sure he was following, but at least it was conversation. "Go on."

"I was just thinking: why America..?"

Poland puffed out his cheeks. "I don't know, I don't, uh – I mean, he's a good guy but like I don't think I _actually_… at all. Seriously in real life that just seems… no."

"No?"

"Actually," Poland felt his face heat up, "actually I was wondering if _you_, and him… I mean, still…"

"No." Liet shook his head, smiling.

"Okay."

"It isn't that way – we're friends."

"Okay."

"Let's look at it symbolically. You dreamt about America."

"Symbolically." Poland thought about it. "He's very nice. Also, sure of himself. Assertive. And… maybe it's cos he's always yelling about _freedom_, which… you know. Resonates."

"…to love freely, with no coercion or compulsion," Lithuania murmured, so quietly Poland was not sure he heard all the words right, but Heaven knew _that_ resonated. "But… just to be clear, now that you're awake… No especial desire to sleep with… America?"

Poland felt his heart pound. That was it, then. He'd as good as admitted it. _Not with America but with you, you, it was only ever you._ Now Lithuania was probably going to laugh, or remind him that he was only being polite and that, in fact, he despised him. Oh, well, he probably deserved it…

What had happened to his self-esteem? he berated himself; and weren't there decades of answers to that question too…

He said, "Uh. Not as such. No. Um, Lithuania?"

Lithuania stood up, pushed in his chair and stepped across to stand in front of Poland.

"'Assertive' is an interesting one. Maybe… if America being in your dream means your subconscious is wanting somebody to be a little more ... assertive..." There was a new, playful smile. "…I mean to say, I would be alright with that."

Lithuania took a handful of Poland's neatly pressed shirt-front and gently tugged.

Poland let himself be pulled off the desk. "Maybe that's it," he breathed. Was this happening? What had gotten into Liet? Poland certainly didn't remember feeling _this_ kind of confident when he'd gotten his name back in '90, but maybe it was different. Or maybe he was dreaming again, was that it?

Lithuania's hand moved to cup Poland's face.

"Is this what you want?"

"Is – what? What?" Poland felt stupid. He was probably dreaming, probably dreaming, this couldn't be happening…

"M-me. Us." Some of Lithuania's earlier assurance seemed to have evaporated and he licked his lips nervously. "Poland, I –"

It was too much. Their faces too near, the intense concentration of Liet's eyes too strong, and just to be this_ physically close_ to him again... After so long. Since 1918 they'd shared hardly a handshake. They'd embraced once at the Baltics' party – just a brief moment; it had been hugs all round. And Poland had been unable to sleep that night for thinking about it. This was too much. Too much and he needed more.

In desperation, he flung himself into Lithuania's chest, burying his face in his shirt, eyes stinging. The odd fancy about it being a dream was gone; this was a different sort of confused altogether.

Lithuania swayed from the impact but caught him, arms awkwardly about his shoulders.

"Hey, hey, what's the matter?"

Poland felt tentative fingers touch his face and shivered convulsively.

"Po?"

_Po._ It was alright. Poland pulled back and looked at him, happiness bubbling up in his chest like terror.

"Nothing's the matter. Nothing. I missed you. Do you still hate me?" He felt as if only the tops of his lungs were working right. "I want to kiss you; I want you to kiss me – so badly Liet, can we–"

Still so close but without moving his body any closer, Lithuania brought a finger to Poland's lips. It was impossible to tell which of them was trembling.

"I've wanted to since you came through the door," Lithuania said quietly. "I've hardly been able to think of anything else since you told me about that ridiculous dream. And before—Poland, I've dreamt about you for... for an embarrassingly long time. That's _why_ it's been so weird." He licked his dry lips again. "I could never hate you now: I would have no idea how to begin. Listen. I couldn't say it before. Even if you hate me, it… I love you. I love you. And nothing's changing that."

And Poland remembered those words: the ones he'd said all those years ago, and the one he hadn't quite managed to say, substituting "like" for "love" at the last moment. He'd assumed Lithuania had forgotten all about it.

Lithuania was admitting no reply. A brush of lips – withdrawn for an instant, then back over his, more certain but still soft and gentle and sweet. For a split-second Poland was lost, off-balance, hands twitching and grasping thin air. How incredible that this could happen. He closed his eyes…

The sudden sob that racked his body wrenched him from the kiss. He was overwhelmed, overcome, swept away and helpless. He collapsed back on himself, shoulders slumping.

"Liet." His voice cracked. It was all, apparently, too much. A second sob, and tears splashed down to the floor. He couldn't stop shaking. To be so missed and wanted and loved. He was not accustomed to it. To such an excess of cherishing.

His best friend gathered him into his arms. Poland breathed.

..._Warmth_, this time. It was warmth. Not raging heat, but golden warmth slowly all the way to his core, late afternoon sun at harvest-time, or together by hearth fires with honey wine, an eternal Christmas-Eve... _Being held in Lithuania's arms_. Safe beyond all measure of home, free past any declaration of independence. No, he wasn't used to this feeling. But, he realised, he'd be alright in a minute.

"I've got you. It – it's okay." Liet's voice shook a little.

Poland nodded rapidly.

"Sorry I'm being all gross," he half-sniffled, half-laughed. "I'm fine."

Lithuania just held him for a minute as his heartbeat settled down, stroked his hair, kissed the top of his head. Old times, old times.

When Poland raised his face, Liet's eyes were full of something like sadness.

Something was wrong. Liet surely couldn't think that he didn't care, could he? But, _is this what you want?_ he'd asked, as usual as if his own wants didn't enter into anyone's considerations. _Even if you hate me._ How – ?

—_You're such a martyr, Liet!_ he used to tease him, back even before that was a thing people said, and all the while aiding and abetting that martyrdom. _ Such a total martyr, why don't you stick up for yourself more?_

It wasn't funny _at all_. Liet was looking after him again, saying he loved him, willing to kiss him or whatever made him feel better, but all this _even if Poland didn't return his feelings?_ Even if he _hated_ him?

Poland's thoughts paused.

That wasn't _fair._

He rubbed his eyes.

Alright, and obviously he was crying, but didn't Liet understand it was only because he was happy? Oh, Liet, don't you know by now I never do things the right way round? Laughing when my world folded flat around me and here I am sobbing when – it balances out, you know? I'm not a broken person. I can be okay for you, I'm sure of it. I can fix this.

He reached out and threaded his fingers through Liet's hair. He smiled, chin dipped in his old way, found his voice –

"I love you too. So much."

– and kissed Lithuania full on the mouth.

They had kissed before, years ago. Centuries. Back then, they had done somewhat more than kiss. This lit up every memory and outshone them all. Strange, after just a few words after such a long time, but Poland had rarely felt surer of anything in this life, and that made all the difference. Crying? who's crying? _I love you. I want you_. _That's all._

Lithuania tasted a little of sweet milky coffee. And he was getting _very_ into this. He coaxed and teased at Poland's lower lip, and Poland moaned aloud.

When they pulled apart to catch their breaths, it was as if tinder and flint had sparked behind Lithuania's eyes. His whole face was alight with a sudden crackling brilliance, and as his smile opened out Poland could feel his own mirror it exactly. Only a minute ago he'd been crying. Right now he felt like nothing could make him sad ever again, not as long as he could have even the memory of that kiss with Lithuania.

"Nnn, why didn't we do this _before_?"

"I've no idea…"

They stared at each other, eyes wide. Both were suddenly completely out of breath.

"Well, come on," Poland whispered, "I thought you said asserti–"

The next kiss was passionate, their bodies crushed close, neither able to get enough contact. They were soon pulling at each other's clothes; too much, and nowhere near enough.

"Door–" Poland gasped, because it was still a little ajar, "door!"

–only to find himself staggering backwards and, "_oof!_" half-winded as the door clicked locked behind him.

"Like, not exactly what I—_mmmf_."

Having kissed him quite comprehensively, Liet drew back, grinning, hands still on Poland's shoulders, effectively holding him to the door. Which was just as well, because Poland didn't think his legs could support him just at the moment.

"I'm going to remind you of this for, like, ever," Poland managed, as Lithuania shifted kisses to his jawline and ran one hand up and down his chest, making quick work of his jacket buttons, "how you totally _pinned_ me to a door and ravished me – a-_ah!_"

"Mm."

"I am..!" he insisted – his shirt was un-tucked, one of Liet's hands slid under it, awkwardly bunching up the jacket, on the small of his back, the other tugged his tie looser and down, "and you're going to be," – Liet's kisses on his neck felt so good that he couldn't help tilting his head back, " – sooo embarrassed – "

Lithuania snorted with laughter against Poland's skin, tickling.

"...Po, shut up –"

Poland gulped in air and barreled on recklessly, "You'll be like _bright_ red!" he squeaked; there were hands inside his clothing still and when had the top couple shirt buttons come undone, because now Lithuania was kissing and tenderly sucking at points along his collar bone... "like a big, poppy flower face –"

"Shut _up_ –"

"Mm-make me," he demanded, blushing furiously himself, and then – "Nnn!" – Lithuania pressed in hard, grinding their hips together, and Poland could hardly see, hardly hear, hardly breathe.

"I _love_ you." Lithuania took his face in both hands and kissed him fiercely.

"Mmm, love you!" Poland panted. Everything stopped for the space of a breath, and then he caressed Lithuania's face and kissed him in return, as sweetly as he knew how.

This was no dream. Lithuania was really standing there, flesh and bone and blood and muscle, warm and strong and loving him. And Poland could do whatever he felt brave enough to try. Hands on Lithuania's shoulders, he began, moving his mouth along Liet's jaw and down his neck, taking the initiative in a way that was a surprise to them both. Lithuania's breath caught in his throat; Poland could feel it under his lips. He sneaked a look up to see Liet's eyelids fluttering, his mouth slack. Poland hummed, pleased, and continued.

After a minute, he stopped and looked up into Lithuania's eyes, smiling and suddenly shy.

"Oh, you're perfect, perfect—" Lithuania whispered, dazed, weakly reaching out to brush strands of blond hair from his face.

"You _so_ shouldn't tell me things like that..." Poland thought his heart might actually burst.

"You're perfect," Liet repeated, resolute and heedless, "perfect, oh, Poland, let me undress you _right now._" His voice fell to something like a groan, sending a thrilling shiver down Poland's back.

"_Please_," Poland breathed.

He leaned back against the door and let Lithuania take control. He arched his body, face upturned towards the ceiling, heartbeat flickering fast under his heated skin. He didn't stop the gasps and little sounds that those lips and gentle teasing touches were eliciting; he wanted Liet to know _exactly_ how amazing this was making him feel.

His already skew-iff jacket was thrown aside in short order, and Lithuania returned to unknotting his tie, already free from the shirt collar.

"Ah," Lithuania grumbled, struggling, "did you have to get _quite_ so dressed this morning?"

"I like to look nice…"

Finally succeeding, Lithuania slid the tie from around Poland's neck with tortuous slowness. "Hm," he mused, fingers just toying with the next shirt button as his lips glided up by Poland's ear again, breath warm, "you know how I think you look nicest of all?"

Poland giggled. Delightful, idiotic Liet – as if they'd never parted… Liet who was now – oh _oh _–kissing and nipping where he'd just been speaking.

"O-okay," Poland stammered, deciding he had better play along, "tell me then, _how_?"

And delightful, idiotic Liet whispered seductively: "Well, in full armour, with wings on, of course. That was very you."

This time he genuinely couldn't stop laughing for about half a minute. "Ohh, I missed you..."

"Mmm." There went the rest of the shirt buttons. "But, you know… I'm thinking completely naked could be a close second." Poland bit his lip and squirmed, embarrassed and very, very turned-on; just when did Lithuania get so bold, and just what was it _doing_ to him—

Lithuania slid the shirt open with both hands.

Poland's scars were no secret. They'd been shown to the world, exhibited in court, so Lithuania must have known about this, or most of it, but even so Poland tensed just a little. He held his breath, not sure how Lithuania was going to react, willing him not to feel sad, or sorry, and for Heaven's sake not to _stop_ as he paused with his fingertips millimetres from the worst of the disfeaturing, the messy souvenir of the burns and bullet wounds right over Poland's heart. It was true: he had been healing them up, but his body would hold some memory for a long time.

Poland opened his mouth to say something reassuring.

"I love you," Lithuania whispered once more, and covered the scars with his lips.

_Such an excess of cherishing_.

Eyes closed and head swimming, Poland mumbled "_thank you."_ And then it was his turn.

With fingers shaking, because this was almost all new, he undid the six tiny buttons. He smoothed his hands over Liet's firm chest and almost purred with pleasure; Liet's body was just _ugh-so-gorgeous_ and he was touching it—and Liet was totally loving this. Poland traced patterns with his fingers, reading the little marks and scars there, then getting bolder, he repeated the exercise with his mouth. Lithuania struggled to breathe and begged him not to stop.

But he wanted to honour the worst of Liet's scars, too, so he drew the shirt completely off and wrapped his arms about him. And understood in that instant, with the physical evidence there under his hands, why Liet had nearly frozen. Not knowing what else to do, Poland pressed his face into Liet's shoulder and just rubbed his back, gently, rhythmically, like you might soothe a sick child. He felt like a child himself, unsure but determined.

Lithuania let out a ragged sigh and relaxed completely onto him, all the warm weight of his body in Poland's arms.

"This time," Poland heard himself say in a croaky voice, "I'll do better. I won't hurt you, I'll protect you, I…"

"Okay," Lithuania said; and it wasn't a dismissal, but it was all he could trust himself to say. "Okay, I love you, I – it's okay."

A quiet moment. Then Lithuania shifted slightly, and it suddenly came to the forefront of both their minds that here they were both completely shirtless, skin to skin and heartbeat to heartbeat. It was… intense.

"Come on," said Lithuania, "don't let's stop now."

And they were kissing again, and pretty soon wondering how and why they could have stopped; it felt like they had been denied _air_ for the last little while—

Lithuania held Poland's hands above their heads, pressing bare chests together as kisses became messier and more desperate. It was insane how long it had been since they were together in any sense at all, and this, this—

Releasing his hands, and slowly sliding his own down Poland's arms then his sides, Liet kissed a line all down Poland's breastbone onto his stomach. Poland gasped and quivered.

"Are - are we going to make it to the bed?"

"Mm, you want to?" Liet murmured against his skin, as he worked his way back up.

"Might be nice..."

"Alright then."

Kissing, stumbling, close to overbalancing, and so laughing, laughing, and almost painfully aroused as they collided, they somehow navigated the ten steps over to the big hotel bed.

"Hey, you didn't make your bed—"

"You only just noticed?"

"Mm, I think – I think you like totally – _planned_ this!"

"You bet." His voice was so soft, they were so close to each other, but Poland could hear it feel it resonating in his chest. "Mm, maybe I totally – did, Po. Maybe…" Poland yelped as he was suddenly lifted into the air by hands at his waist and dropped gently on the bed. "Remember, I've been dreaming of this too…"

He knelt over Poland and started unbuckling his belt.

"…for decades… imagining this, over and over."

"'Th-this?'"

"You, in my bed."

Poland _moaned_, and Liet wasn't even touching him.

"Like totally get down here already," he whined

"Wait…" murmured Lithuania, infuriatingly, just _looking _at him, but his hands drifted down and he started to undo Poland's trousers, too, still moving with tantalising slowness.

Poland's chest rose and fell rapidly – the suspense was literally going to kill him!

He threw his arms around Liet's neck, pulled him down and kissed him until they were both dizzy – hopefully it was the kissing and not concussion from banging their skulls together. He rolled them right round, pinned Lithuania under him and then was flipped back over – like the wrestling games they used to play when they were younger only_ really not_. He wrapped his legs around Liet and drew him desperately close.

Grinding against each other, the friction was incredible, and possibly more than a little dangerous, what with the tangle of clothes still about their legs, and it was messy and crazy and inelegant and _damned if he was going to stop now_ – Poland screwed his eyes shut – and suddenly the weight and the friction was gone, Lithuania rolled off him and they lay on their sides facing each other.

"Is it okay?" Lithuania asked softly, the fingers of one hand stroking Poland's neck and shoulder and combing through his hair, slightly damp like the rest of them under a sheen of sweat.

"Very, very, very okay," Poland panted, "why'd we stop?"

Liet moved to be over him again, caressing the soft skin of Poland's stomach, circles over his hipbones, slowly, meditatively, like he was waiting.

He seemed to _really know what he was doing_, Poland thought, and the idea suddenly entered his head that actually he wouldn't be scandalised by the details of that dream, _at all_...

"Please," Poland said, it was nearly a whimper, "please – can we – I need you to…"

"…to do what, Po?" Liet teased, still running hands over his body so _slowly_.

"I need you to… touch me, please, I need…" He took courage and looked straight into Liet's eyes. He shuffled back on his elbows to sit against the headboard. "…like this," he said, got his hand inside Liet's pants and demonstrated.

Poland thought for a heart-clenching moment that he was doing this all wrong because Lithuania seemed to have stopped breathing altogether. Then he let fall from his lips the most beautiful "_oh_", and Poland knew he must be doing something pretty okay.

"Oh, _Poland_, that's…"

"Nice?" he teased, relief and joy uncurling deliciously inside him.

"_Yes_, yes, oh, yes."

Lithuania, supporting himself with one hand, reached down and returned the favour with the other and Poland bit his lip,_ oh_. He could feel himself blushing like crazy – he didn't know what to do, in particular – but, from the look on Liet's face… this seemed to be appreciated well enough… He tried to copy Liet's movements, stroking him slow and firm as they kissed again, hungrily, the perfect, melting happiness he felt multiplied a thousand-fold by the knowledge that Lithuania was happy too.

This was new and gentle, taking their time over each other. The movements of their hands slowed down again, the pleasurable tension building somewhere very deep. They were quiet now, only sharing each other's breathing, only tasting their own redeemed names on each other's tongues.

– happy? more than happy, nothing so static as contentment; _joy_, never sated and yet completely safe, craving desperately and receiving as soon… A journey ancient and familiar, as he explored and was himself rediscovered: _take me, chart me, know me every part, for my hands and heart have sorrowed to hold you these many-too-many years…_

"M-more," Poland groaned: a cliché, needy, incoherent; it didn't matter.

"Mmm." Lithuania flashed him a wolfish grin then dived for his neck again, kissing with just a hint of teeth as his hand moved faster, firmer _– talented fingers and wicked mouth_, that was him, alright –

Faster, faster, moving unevenly – hips jerking, bucking up into Lithuania's hand as he in turn thrust down and down – "_L—oh, oh_," – "_Poland! ah!_" – until they were shuddering and sighing, coming to release in each other's hands.

They held each other as they floated back to earth. Lithuania sort of collapsed on top of Poland, but he didn't mind for the time being, panted his name and stroked his hair weakly, as the kisses fell apart.

* * *

"Hey, you…"

"Hey, you." Sunlight illuminated the secret amber in Lithuania's eyes.

"I'm so happy."

"Me as well."

_What God has joined, let not man put asunder._

Words that had ached in Poland's heart all these years were finally healing back into wholeness. Maybe he'd known those words could not be true for them, and he hadn't himself honoured that promise well, but – but here they were, just like no one had ever torn them apart.

They lay side by side, looking full into each other's faces, which to Poland felt like the most impossibly intimate thing of all. He felt relaxed and warmed all through, warmed like glowing coals.

At some point, Lithuania pulled out a handkerchief from his trouser pocket.

"Shower?" he suggested when he'd finished.

"Yeah. Any minute now," Poland agreed, not moving an inch.

"You've gotten a lot better with eye-contact, you know," Liet murmured, apropos of absolutely nothing as far as Poland could tell.

"Oh?" Everything still felt hazy. "I guess? Only because it's you... Most of the time it's much too much effort."

"Mmm."

"Your eyes are preeetty."

Poland was surprised to see those eyes go briefly wide, as if Lithuania, who had been so unabashed by everything else, was thrown off balance by this little compliment.

"Liet… everything okay in there?"

"Um." Lithuania shifted, moving distressingly _away_ from him. "You don't think it was a bit... precipitate? I, really I pulled you straight into bed."

"What? No way!" Poland propped himself up on one elbow and squinted at Lithuania. "Like, the bed was totally my idea. If it was up to you it would be up against the door, right? I'm kidding! I _mean_, it wasn't _precipitate_ at all, it was… kinda perfect. You worry... Anyway," he batted Liet's nose gently with a finger, smirking, "you seemed pretty sure a couple minutes ago."

Lithuania nodded slowly. "I am sure. If you are."

"Liet. I am way sure."

Liet nodded again and finally the worried look faded. "I suppose, all told, we've waited for each other plenty long." He smiled, and Poland's heart fluttered.

_My beloved is mine and I am his._

"Exactly," said Poland.

Rolling over onto his back, he exhaled happily.

"Hotel beds. So nice."

A big grin spread out across his face. He wriggled around to get under the sheets, to make it as if they had just woken up together. To prove that, although everything was new - beds, clothes, the very _fabrics_, the architecture, the city sounds through the window and the electric lights – nothing important had changed one bit.

Playfully, Lithuania started bundling up all the sheets over his end.

"Heeeeey," Poland whined, "whatcha doing that for?"

Lithuania grinned and raised an eyebrow. "Revenge!"

"Like for what?"

"For the _hundreds of years_ you hogged the covers!"

"I did? I don't remember doing that..."

"Yeah, that's why -" Lithuania broke off, laughing softly, then bit his lip, looking and looking into Poland's face with such tenderness. "I can't believe you're here with me."

"..'m sorry about the sheets, and stuff." Poland tried to push them _all_ over to Lithuania, and the pillow as well.

Lithuania put a hand over his to stop him, his gaze intent and almost stricken.

"I love you." He touched Poland's cheek as delicately as if his skin was silk. "Come here."

Poland did, upon the instant, wriggling right up and nuzzling the base of Lithuania's neck. Liet pulled the sheets up to cover them both and held him, and how he remembered this, how they were puzzle pieces. Finding a new completeness.

He could hear Liet's heartbeat, feel his chest move as his breath came shakily and shallow.

"We're so freaking emotional," Poland said, muffled.

"I know." Lithuania sniffed and turned it into a laugh.

"I love you," Poland whispered. "I love you. Love you. Love—are you tired of hearing that yet because I'm not and I like saying it _I love you_."

They clung to each other. Eyes closed and hands resting over familiar places, fingers reading fading scars like Braille.

_Heart of my own heart._

Poland had the disconnected thought that this somehow reminded him of a Prelude, one of the abidingly lovely ones. Had Liet _ever_ heard him play? Maybe he would play him something, and Liet would come up behind him and distract him by rubbing his shoulders, like in the movies, but he wouldn't mind. Maybe they could do that tonight, in the hotel lobby.

"Po…" Lithuania said sleepily, nudging him, "did you call me a 'big poppy flower face' at one point?"

"Uh maybe... Did _you_ use like utterly _made-up dream interpretation_ to be all, 'well obviously this means you want to get back together and have sex with me'?"

Lithuania actually winked. "Maybe. Wasn't so very inaccurate, was it?"

"Fffssshhh okay _obviously_, shush you." He was glad Liet had stopped needlessly worrying about pushing him into things, but this was still _embarrassing_. He wriggled and rolled back and forth, definitely stealing the covers now.

Liet caught and held him, and they kissed and kissed and couldn't stop.

Once upon a time, they were married; they were one; and what God has joined… It was good if this time they didn't _need_ each other for reasons of expediency. So that this time they could say 'yes' without any complication or compulsion or misunderstanding.

…_Once upon a time in the Commonwealth, they'd kissed and talked and kissed until they couldn't stay awake, until they felt they knew each other's secret hearts, until the sky turned gold…_

A little while later, Poland wriggled backwards and opened one eye to peek at Lithuania's face. He might almost have been asleep, breathing evenly, with an expression of quiet ecstasy.

Poland darted forward and kissed him on the nose. He drew back – considered – dared again: forehead, eyelids, chin. Lithuania made a snuggly noise, then opened his eyes. In wonder, as if he was still in a dream, he traced his fingers slowly over Poland's lips.

"_Brangusis_," he murmured, "precious one, my dearest."

Two cold centuries. Poland swallowed, and couldn't speak. He squeezed his eyes shut again and tried to pull himself even closer to his best friend in all the world.

They drifted by the borders of sleep and waking. Just as Poland was wondering if this un-Liet-like languor might extend to them literally staying in bed all day (which wouldn't be so bad), Liet determinedly untangled himself from Poland' limbs.

"...so, about that shower?"

"Yeah. Totally. Okay. I'm up."

"Unh, there's a dirty joke there somewhere…"

"Was your mind always this filthy?"

"When it comes to you?" Lithuania was sitting up and pushing his hair back from his face. "Definitely."

Poland rolled around stealing all the sheets again. "Ummm," he said into the mattress, "I could get used to this assertive-you."

"Well, then, shower!" Liet demanded cheerfully, "Come _on_!"

Poland let himself be marshaled out of bed. "Okay, okay. And then… day off, right? You are totally not allowed to sit around and do boring work today!"

"_You_ are totally not allowing it?" Liet teased.

Poland flushed. "Well, I –"

Lithuania cut him off. "You can go ahead. I definitely want to spend the day with you."

* * *

They showered, kissing under the running water, which was new for Poland and _definitely_ something to try again.

Later, they would have to get reacquainted in a more considered, conventional way. They would have to unpack all their old troubles and hurts. There were quarrels to be dusted off and begun again on everything from language to boundaries to mealtimes. There were ghosts to be raised and laid for once and for all, or at least 'til the next year, the next memorial: laid to rest with honour or ashes due. Tears to be shed. A true name and a holy kiss for every scar.

And Poland thought, and thanked God, that this morning had been a gift. Because there was no reason on earth, after so long and everything that had happened, for their reunion to have been so free of doubt and difficulty. There was so much going on under the surface for Liet, as there was for him, he realised this, and they were lucky – _blessed_ – that none of it had gotten in the way. It was a gift, a vision, a promise of how good it could be.

They dressed, and they talked. They talked easily, and far too much, taking meandering trains of thought through miles of excessive detail, and hanging on each other's every word. They combed and tied back each other's hair. Just for fun. Just so, as Poland said, they could "_walk around all day and think, Your hands did this_".

"I've a confession," said Lithuania quietly, hands lingering at the back of Poland's neck. "I wanted to tell you. Back then… Hearing your voice on the phone, whatever you were saying, just talking with you, it—it was like sunshine. When everything else was so dark and grey." Poland turned around. Liet's eyes were unnaturally wide open, remembering. He nearly interrupted, wanting to bring him back, but wanting to let him speak. Lithuania continued with difficulty. "I realised again how much you meant to me, and, I decided that if you ever gave me the chance, I'd tell you. So." He shrugged and looked down. "I wanted to let you know."

Poland puffed out his cheeks and shook his head. "If _I_ ever gave _you_ the chance… Wow, Liet. Like, do you _want_ to make me cry again?"

"No," Liet said, urgently. "I don't ever want you to have to cry about anything again."

Poland pressed his hand over his mouth. "I don't–" he mumbled, "I don't know how I did without you."

Lithuania smiled, thoughtful, calm again. "You did, though. You could again, easy. Just… now you don't have to."

* * *

Downstairs, they found America alone in the hotel restaurant.

"Hey, morning, you two!"

"Good morning!" Lithuania greeted him as they walked over to his table. "Aren't you a little late for breakfast?"

America took an enormous bite of bagel. "Mmmf, nah, I had breakfast a couple times already. This is more like... early brunch." He gestured expansively, causing a light shower of poppy seeds. "These are really good, by the way. And Britain was totally saying they didn't have them here – shows what he knows, right? Hey, do you want some? I'll go get some."

He stuffed the remainder of the bagel in his mouth and bounded off to the other side of the room where a table was laid out with what looked like a dozen different species of bagel.

Poland and Lithuania looked at each other and tried not to crack up too loudly.

"He's so…" Poland began.

"He really, really is. Bless him."

"Also, you know what," Poland huffed as they took seats next to each other, "I'm going to have to narrate you my dream in _extreme detail_ so you can feel just as awkward and weirded out around him as I do right now because this is not fair."

"Maybe later." He snaked an arm around Poland's waist and gave a gentle squeeze. "In fact, later, I would very much like to hear some of that extreme detail…"

"_Liet!_" Poland choked, beet-red, and changed the subject. "With the bagels though, I bet anything England bought them in specially, like with the chocolate thing."

"Chocolate thing?"

America jogged back at that moment, carrying three heaped plates like a waiter.

"One for you… here's yours, Poland… aaand aw, shucks, if you insist, we don't want waste, do we?" He set down the third and most bountifully laden plate in front of his place. "Well, dig in!"

Lithuania had to let go of Poland in order to start on the food, and America suddenly glanced between them.

"So did you two—" They froze guiltily "—make up your fight or whatever?"

Poland blinked. Had it been _that_ obvious yesterday?

"Oh, yeah," he said, "we're… totally friends again now."

"Totally," Lithuania echoed.

"That's great!" America exclaimed. "I absolutely sensed there was something going on."

"…Well done?" Poland said.

"But all you needed was a bit of time to get back to the way things were. Anyway, it's great that you're friends again, being such close neighbours and all!" Again, he seemed to pause expectantly.

"Is that a new geography fact?" Lithuania teased.

"Excuse me, I have known that for _ever_, Lithuania." He managed to maintain his serious face for approximately half a second. "Okay, okay, then I forgot it a bit."

"Actually," Lithuania went on, "you can take some of the credit. It's partly because of you that we, um, made up."

"Is it? Awesome!" America said happily at the same time as Poland freaked out, "Dude, shut _up_!"

"Okay, now I'm interested. What did I do?"

"Shhhhhhh!" Poland grabbed Lithuania and tried to silence him by sticking a bagel in his mouth.

"Sorry, America," laughed Lithuania, squirming in Poland's grasp, "my lips are sealed."

"…Alright then…" America's eyes twinkled like he was not letting this drop forever. "Well, I'm gonna go take a jog around that park place, anyone want to come?"

"Ah… not today," said Lithuania, and Poland shook his head. "Have fun, though."

"Will do! See you round!"

"You are _ne-ver_ telling him, okay?" Poland said after America had gone.

"I might, though…" Lithuania smirked.

"I shouldn't have told _you_!"

"I'm really glad you did."

"Well, yeah…"

They finished up their food, and then Lithuania turned to Poland and asked the most wonderful question.

"What shall we do next?"

* * *

_Beginning._


End file.
